


the heart's filthy lesson

by havisham



Series: The Nargothrond Series [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Drunken Confessions, M/M, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sex in a Smithy, consensual drunk sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6567346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Celebrimbor learns a painful lesson in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the heart's filthy lesson

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sleepless_Malice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sleepless_Malice/gifts).



“Ah, Celebrimbor! Why are you sitting here alone? Why do you not dance with the other young people?” Celebrimbor felt someone put a hand on his shoulder and he whipped around so quickly that he nearly crashed into Orodreth, the king’s brother. 

Orodreth had been leaning against the same pillar as Celebrimbor had been, and he loomed over Celebrimbor by a few -- but a vital few -- inches. Orodreth leaned and asked, solicitously, “Did I startle you? My apologies.” 

“No.” Celebrimbor attempted a smile, which did not quite work. “I was not startled. Only lost in thought.” 

“No doubt, your thoughts are consumed by your projects. My brother says you exhibit a remarkable talent for the metallurgical arts,” Orodreth said brightly and Celebrimbor tried not to wince. Orodreth meant well and Finrod’s praise was welcome, of course, but nothing that Celebrimbor should pay especial attention to. 

Or so his father said. 

“Finrod is very kind, but I am only at the beginning of my career. What I create now can only be interesting in retrospect. I hope.” 

“I see.” 

Celebrimbor glanced at Orodreth and it seemed to him that the interest his kinsman was showing him seemed prefabricated, following the shape of a conversation already cut out and set aside neatly for use. Slot in one person, their interests, their business and commence from there. 

Celebrimbor felt unaccountably angry at that -- he was no formula to be filled out! And he was angry at Orodreth. Abruptly, he said, “I'm boring you. Pardon me, I'll leave.” 

Orodreth blinked and for a moment the kind, rather vacuous expression on his face sharpened into something almost calculating, something almost cruel. Then he smiled, so genuinely and so completely that it seemed like he was transformed, like he had transformed -- into Finrod. 

He placed a hand on Celebrimbor’s shoulder, right between the juncture of his shoulder and his neck, one of the only places of bare skin on Celebrimbor’s body, save for his face and hands. His tunic was tight-fitted and made of black velvet, stitched heavily with silver thread and jewels. 

The hall was sweltering. He was miserable. 

Orodreth’s hand was cool against his hot skin and Celebrimbor nearly moaned at the touch. But he did not. His face began to heat up. He had dressed so severely in all deliberateness, but now he could not remember why. It was absurd! 

 

Softly, Orodreth said, his eyes half-cast down, “I am not bored in the least. In fact, I want to know more about you. Will you come to my chambers for a drink?” 

No, no, no. His father’s voice echoed in Celebrimbor’s head. _No, certainly not. Do you think I would fall for such a weak gambit? Who do you think I am?_

“Lead on,” Celebrimbor said, ignoring his father’s voice. 

He was his own man, after all. 

***

Orodreth’s chambers were ones long established, decorated in the style of the some of the earliest delvings. They were larger than the newer rooms, and more airy and brighter than most. Celebrimbor hadn't known that Orodreth had spent much time in Nargothrond before Minas Tirith fell. Orodreth must have divined the run of Celebrimbor’s thoughts because he shook his head. “These chambers were built for my sister, Artanis when she dwelt here for a time. My brother graciously allowed me to stay here after I came.” 

Celebrimbor looked around more curiously. The room was decorated in great taste and comfort, but it did not look very lived-in. He wondered where Orodreth spent most of his time, if not here. 

“Come, I didn’t ask you here to look at my furniture,” Orodreth said lightly, pulling him to a low-slung cabinet, which he opened up to reveal rows and rows of gleaming bottles. After a moment of consideration, he pulled out several, which he handed up to Celebrimbor. Celebrimbor examined the label of one one of the wine bottles and was astonished to see that it was of Valinorian provenance. 

“Wine from Valinor? I can't imagine hauling this across the Grinding Ice,” Celebrimbor said, holding out his hands for Orodreth. Orodreth took it and pulled himself up with a dark chuckle. 

“The wealth my brother brought over was not just gold, you know,” Orodreth said, dusting off his hands. He told Celebrimbor to take a seat beside the fire, and he would bring the glasses. The fire had been lit as they had come into the room by quiet-footed servants who now were nowhere to be seen. The chairs themselves were deep and comfortable, ones that seemed to let the sitter sink into them, never to let them go. Celebrimbor leaned against the back of the chair and sighed. 

He did not mean to fall asleep just then -- or at all -- but he did, immediately and deeply. He not slept well for a long time, and had drunk more than was wise. When he woke again, Orodreth was sitting in front of him, drinking wine. Flushed and embarrassed, Celebrimbor muttered some nonsense about not realizing how tired he was and took the cup of wine when Orodreth proffered. 

The wine was strong and sweet, and the more Celebrimbor drank, the more he wished to drink. Soon enough, Orodreth made noises about cutting him off, to which Celebrimbor put down his glass and looked at him. 

“What do you desire the most?” Celebrimbor asked abruptly, deciding to take a conversational gambit before he was unable to do so. 

Orodreth blinked. His face was flushed; he had met Celebrimbor drink for drink, more or less. “Why are you asking about my secret desires, son of Curufin?” He rose from his seat, swaying a little, hands pressed to his heart. 

Celebrimbor grumbled that his father had nothing to do with it. 

Orodreth leaned over him, his hands gripping tightly to arms of Celebrimbor’s chair, his mouth close to Celebrimbor’s cheek. “My dearest wish is to throw your father and your uncle out of this city by their hair.” 

“Oh?” Celebrimbor said and pulled him down. “And what of me?” 

“You? I would have you be free of them?” Orodreth gave him a narrow, considering look. He sank into his knees in front of Celebrimbor, folding his hands on Celebrimbor’s lap. Celebrimbor twitched but did not remove them. 

Angry, Celebrimbor leaned in and hissed, “They are my family, they are all I have.” 

“And yet, when your father stands to speak, you are not beside him. You do not speak to support him. You turn away. Why?” 

“Well. He is my father, but his thoughts are not my own.” 

Orodreth looked at him intently. “Why have you come here tonight, Celebrimbor?” 

“Because you asked me to,” Celebrimbor answered, feeling more tired now than he had all night. 

“You could have said no,” Orodreth said, unbuttoning Celebrimbor’s breeches. His fingers glided down the patch of skin that was exposed, going downward.

“I am beginning to think I should have,” Celebrimbor murmured, almost to himself. 

Orodreth stopped. Withdrew his hand. “Do you wish to?” 

“No,” Celebrimbor said, and bent down to kiss him. 

Kissing Orodreth was strange, not that he had much to compare it with. He had had some mild flirtations with his fellow apprentices, but nothing that went farther than brief, awkward kisses and shy glances. And Orodreth’s hair, silky and long and wrapped in his hands, had never been singed by fire. 

Either he rose or Orodreth did -- one or the other hauled the other one up and began the slow, remorseless process of shedding off their clothes. Celebrimbor was happy to have his collar wrenched off, and his tunic, ruined. And Orodreth’s clothes were relatively easy to get off and he did quickly and without fuss. 

“Is this your first time?” he asked in between kisses, his fingers digging little crescent moons into Celebrimbor’s side. After a moment of hesitation, Celebrimbor nodded. Orodreth pulled away with a sigh. 

“Ai, Tyelpo! Then you should be handled carefully and well, and in a bed. And I can offer you a bed, anyway, come on.” Orodreth pulled him out of the room and down the hall, to a bedroom. He threw himself into the bed and Celebrimbor clung to him, reluctant to let go in case one of them changed their mind.

Privately, he was astonished by Orodreth’s boldness and he said so, hardly meaning to. 

Orodreth laughed and kissed him again, ruffling Celebrimbor’s hair as he did so. 

 

“You see me as straight-laced and boring, do you?” 

“No,” Celebrimbor said, “until this afternoon, I hardly thought of you at all.” 

“Oh, you are a cruel one,” said Orodreth palming his cock impatiently. 

“No--” Celebrimbor frowned, distracted by the expanse of smooth, golden flesh before him, begging to be touched. He ran a hand down Orodreth’s chest, half in wonder. “At least I try not to be.” 

He sat tense for a moment, until Orodreth heaved a deep sigh and pushed him back against the pillow. “You must relax, Tyelpo. I can’t ravish you in this state.” 

“Will you?” Celebrimbor tried not to sound too hopeful. 

“Oh, yes,” Orodreth said, with a wicked gleam in his eye. “I certainly will.” 

Things moved quickly after that. Celebrimbor spread his legs willing for Orodreth, who withdrew a vial of oil from under his pillow. Celebrimbor, who had thought he was sober by then was hit with the realization that he wasn't, not quite. His lingering drunkenness gave the whole scene a feeling of not-quite-reality, and it burned in the pit of stomach -- along with lust, impatience and trepidation. Orodreth’s finger, greased and long, slipped into him and Celebrimbor shifted, trying not to cry out at this new sensation. 

“Breathe,” Orodreth murmured, “it's only my finger, see?” He waved his other, free hand in front of Celebrimbor’s face. Celebrimbor frowned at him, thinking that he was making fun when Orodreth surged forward and kissed him, hotly and firmly, on his mouth. He left Celebrimbor gasping, hardly noticing that there were now two fingers in him. 

It was then he noticed Orodreth’s cock, stiff and insistent in front of him. He reached for it and gave it an awkward sort of tug. Orodreth grinned, which looked a bit like he was baring his teeth. “Not so hard,” he muttered, “you'll make me spill.” 

“Put it in,” Celebrimbor said, a touch imperiously. 

“You’re not ready. I'm not sure if I should do this today. Perhaps if I had a few more days to prepare you…” 

“No!” Celebrimbor gave him a pleading look, grabbed Orodreth’s hand and kissed his knuckles. “Please don't change your mind. I want this. I want you.” 

“You are sure? Not still drunk?” 

“For Eru’s sake, Artaresto. I--” 

Orodreth pulled him forward and pushed into him, as easily as he pleased. Celebrimbor felt silent, knocked speechless. Orodreth let him get used to the feeling, a little, before he pushed in further. Celebrimbor had the wherewithal to hook his leg around Orodreth’s waist and anchor himself more firmly against him. 

It was not quite a comfortable feeling, being fucked. Though it was obvious that Orodreth seemed to take great care in handling him, such care that the little note of dismay that began to creep into Celebrimbor’s perceptions didn't deepen into something worse. But still -- he couldn't help thinking -- was this the thing that everyone was so eager to experience, to talk of? True, deeds of lust were rarely spoken among the Eldar, but the Noldor were in fact more lusty than the rest, and Fëanorians most of all. 

And yet, for the moment, Celebrimbor could not quite say there was much to it, save for some uncomfortable closeness and strange -- if not wholly unpleasant -- sensations. Just as Celebrimbor was pondering this, Orodreth’s cock brushed something inside him that made his toes curl. 

“Oh,” Celebrimbor said, faintly. “Do that again, won't you?” 

“Stop thinking,” Orodreth said kindly, brushing the hair off Celebrimbor's face. 

Celebrimbor sighed and obliged him. 

*

His father had been baiting him all night with little pinpricks of scorn that were hardly noticeable to those who were not already familiar with the vicissitudes of Fëanor’s favorite son. His uncle Celegorm was, of course, quite familiar with it and had asked, laughingly, before they had been seated for dinner, what exactly Celebrimbor had done to annoy his father so. 

Celebrimbor claimed innocence, which was a lie. He sat now, next to his father, opposite Finduilas, who was sitting by her father. It was an intimate dinner, just the family and only thirty or so prominent nobles. Celebrimbor’s father was now ignoring him, having been exasperated by Celebrimbor’s own lack of response earlier. 

“Cousin, you must be thinking of something more serious than your quail, for I am sure it has done nothing to warrant such an expression from you,” said Finduilas lightly. 

“Oh, I -- forgive me--” replied Celebrimbor, confusedly. 

“My darling one, it is a poor hostess who puts their guests under too-much scrutiny,” said Finduilas’ father with an indulgent smile. Finduilas pouted a little at his rebuke and Celebrimbor felt a foot brush against his own, perhaps by mistake. He blinked. 

“No,” he said slowly. “Cousin Finduilas is right. I am being rude, forgive me. My mind was occupied by other matters.” 

The foot touched against him again, a caress rather than a bump. 

So, not an accident then. 

“Not by the forge,” drawled his father, who until now had been deep in discussion with his neighbor on the other side of him, about the price of copper ore. But now his attention was on Celebrimbor. “You have been conspicuously absent from your work for days.” 

“He is young,” Orodreth said with a bland smile. “Perhaps his blood is up. He should go out on a hunt, or take a lover.” He shot Celebrimbor a look that was almost a wink. 

“My son,” Curufin said icily, “has no time for such frivolous pursuits.” 

“You call hunting frivolous? How very dare you,” interrupted Celegorm suddenly. He was seated some places away, but his hearing had always been absurdly sharp. Curufin sighed and muttered something under his breath, which Celegorm also heard, and said so.

 

Celebrimbor let his attention drift from their argument, such as it was. He stretched out underneath the table until he met with the tip of Orodreth’s foot, keeping his expression vaguely preoccupied as he traced his toe down Orodreth’s foot and up, almost to his thigh. Orodreth leaned against the table, apparently to listen more closely to what Finduilas was about to say. He was closer now, and Celebrimbor only had to push a little further to press himself against Orodreth’s loosened thighs. 

“Tyelpo, what do you think of --” 

Celebrimbor missed the rest of the sentence. He jerked back and spilled his wine across the white tablecloth. He rose abruptly -- realized that he couldn’t quite yet -- and sat down again.

Orodreth, across from him, raised a brow. 

“What are you doing?” hissed his father, glaring at him. 

“Nothing!” Celebrimbor whispered back. 

Curufin continued to glare at him, until suddenly, he turned to Orodreth, who immediately looked down then up, anywhere to get away from Curufin’s brightly suspicious glare. Celebrimbor cleared his throat and rose from his seat, carefully this time. 

“I must go,” he said, with a vague wave of his hand. “Forge emergency.” 

They all stared at him, but no one stopped him. 

*

Celebrimbor spent the next few days practically living in his forge -- at least, sleeping in the small living quarters near the forges, and spending every waking hour at the forge or in the jewelry workshop. He avoided all signs of his father and to his intense relief his father seemed to be avoiding him as well. The only soul he saw in those days was a messenger who came to deliver a letter for him, written by his uncle, Maedhros. 

He tucked the letter into his pocket, to read later. Maedhros did not write to him often, but when he did, it was always worth taking the time to absorb his words. Celebrimbor turned his attention back to plans for a new kiln, larger and more elaborate than the one they had. 

He heard someone come in. Assuming it was his father, Celebrimbor did not look up. Instead he waved the letter over his shoulder and was startled to find himself wrapped in an embrace. He stiffened immediately and Orodreth let him go with a chuckle. 

“Not one for surprises then, I see,” he said. Celebrimbor turned so that he could have a better look at him. “Oh, hello,” Celebrimbor said, a touch uncertainly. They had not seen since the unfortunate dinner party -- it would not be wise to arouse his father’s suspicions further, and besides… 

“You could have sent a note,” Orodreth said, a teasing note in his voice. “I am all right with rejection, as long as I know that I am being rejected.” 

“I've not,” Celebrimbor began to say before he shook his head, sheepish. “My work kept me. My absence wasn't -- er, purposeful.” 

“Good,” Orodreth said, clapping his hands behind his back and straightening. “Now, your smithy. Care to give me a tour?” 

“You would like one?” Celebrimbor asked, incredulously, taking Orodreth’s offered arm. 

“Of course! Show me all of your secrets!” 

*

Celebrimbor quickly discovered that despite his words, Orodreth was almost entirely disinterested in the design or function of his forge. He perched on the large anvil -- “This is the most absurdly large anvil I have ever seen,” he said cheerfully, adjusting his robe, which was made of a light, floaty material that was patently a fire risk. 

Thinking only of the fire hazard, Celebrimbor remarked that if his grandfather had caught Orodreth such a in such a dress in his forge, he would make him strip everything off and leave it aside. 

“And your hair is loose,” Celebrimbor muttered, stepping close enough to wrap his hands around Orodreth’s long, blonde hair. Orodreth gave him a wide, entirely innocent look and for that, Celebrimbor felt, he had to kiss him.

It was like a match to a spark, the machinery of it worked perfectly; from kissing they advanced swiftly to undressing -- Celebrimbor pulled off Orodreth’s robe with a contemptuous snort and let it fall to the ground. True, the fire had been banked for the night and there was little danger, but -- 

“I want you to fuck me --” Orodreth said, breathlessly. “Here, now.” 

Celebrimbor breathed in sharply. “Someone might come in -- I’m usually the only one to use it, but --” 

“I’ve locked the door.” 

“Have you?” 

“Probably,” Orodreth said, in a way that did not inspire much confidence and gave him a flirtatious, lusty look that made Celebrimbor’s blood run hot. He thought about the little cot they kept off the main workshop, for craftsmen to rest before continuing their labors. He could bring Orodreth there, but his lover squirmed so, underneath his hands, that moving so far seemed impossible. 

“You should take me here,” Orodreth said, biting at Celebrimbor’s earlobe. And something in Celebrimbor gave, came loose in him. He pushed apart Orodreth’s legs and Orodreth made a noise, like a shout of triumph that was muffled against Celebrimbor’s chest. He wrapped his legs around Celebrimbor’s waist, tried to anchor himself upward, but Celebrimbor pushed him down with little in the way of gentleness. 

Celebrimbor took a hold his cock and rubbed it against Orodreth’s, as firmly as he could manage. Orodreth sighed, muttering half-incoherently, praises and curses all. But he had not meant to come this way and as soon as pre-come spotted Celebrimbor’s fine tunic, and Celebrimbor pulled away, almost dazed. 

Orodreth turned and presented himself to Celebrimbor’s inspection, narrow thighs and an arse that was less than perfectly rounded. Distractedly, Celebrimbor began to knead them the buttocks, his thumb making its way to the rim Orodreth’s hole. He found, to his surprise, that his thumb sunk in easily enough and Orodreth writhed a little at the touch.

“I thought I would prepare the ground, as it were,” he said. At Celebrimbor’s look of confusion, Orodreth sighed. “I’ve loosened myself, used as much oil as I could stand. All you have to do is --” He licked his lips and looked at Celebrimbor expectantly. 

“Oh,” Celebrimbor said, a little faintly. “Will that be enough?” 

“You needn’t worry,” Orodreth said, getting back in about throwing back a lecherous smile to Celebrimbor, who bent down to kiss him. They kissed, and Celebrimbor pushed in. 

He felt a hammering in his temples that echoed the throb of blood in his heart. Orodreth made such noise when he was fucked, though his voice was muffled. Celebrimbor pushed away the hair that had found its way into Orodreth’s mouth. 

“Thank you! I thought I would faint --” Orodreth said and Celebrimbor realized, suddenly, that the hammering wasn't just going on inside his head. His hips stopped moving, despite Orodreth’s whine of protest. 

It was true. Someone else was in the forge. 

The forge itself was composed of many little workshops and smithies that were little more than cells that led into a large hall where the main forge-fired burned. From the sound of the hammering, Celebrimbor knew it was close, maybe only a room or two away. 

“Don't stop,” Orodreth whispered, “I'm so close.” He rubbed against the rough surface of the anvil and threw Celebrimbor a pleading look over his shoulder. He was irresistible. 

Celebrimbor fucked into him with renewed vigor, and Orodreth cried out in satisfaction. 

Let them hear. 

*

Afterward, his legs shaking in exhaustion, Celebrimbor got out a rag, wetted it from his waterskin and cleaned Orodreth up as well as he could. Orodreth pulled on his clothes and tried look presentable. They looked at each other -- and began to laugh. 

“Shall we do this again?” Orodreth asked him, looping his arm around Celebrimbor’s waist and bringing him close. Celebrimbor wiped the tears of laughter that had began to form in the corners of his eyes. 

“Yes,” Celebrimbor said, “I want to.” 

“Good. When you touch me now, you do not think of my brother, do you?” 

“No! I never did -- not really.” He meant it. Finrod had been a distant daydream, a fantasy he had played at, never thinking it was reality. Perfect, but untouchable. Flawed though Orodreth was -- and he was very flawed -- the reality of him, the feeling his skin against Celebrimbor’s own, killed the fantasy dead. 

“Nor did I. Think of anyone else, I mean.” Orodreth said this carefully, stressing his words carefully. Celebrimbor looked down at him, faintly puzzled. But Orodreth would say no more, only kissed him and said that he must go. 

*

After Orodreth had gone, Celebrimbor stayed a little longer, guiltily wiping the surface of the anvil for the third or fourth time, and generally putting the workshop to rights again. Finally, there was no further reason to delay, and so he left the shop, locking the door behind him. The central hall was empty and lit only by blue-hued Fëanorian lamps. If he looked up, he would see the complicated system of ducts above, designed to suck away the smoke and fumes below. Celebrimbor was absorbed in his observations, however, he was not particularly surprised to see a figure emerge from the gloom and greet him. 

It was his father. Curufin was dressed in his old work-clothes, the same as Celebrimbor. They looked so similar to each other that Celebrimbor was almost tempted to reach out and touch him, expecting to feel the cool surface of a mirror. 

“You certainly took long enough,” his father said, and they walked along in silence that was almost companionable. 

“You understand, of course, that you may not see that rogue again,” Curufin said as they crossed the threshold to their shared quarters. Celebrimbor quickly toward him, feeling as though he had been struck. 

“I understand nothing. I’m not a child for you to --” 

Curufin snorted sharply, and looked at him with hardened eyes. Celebrimbor realized this was how his father looked upon his enemies. He had never looked at Celebrimbor like that before. 

“Artaresto has always been one of easy virtue. I should have known he would try with you as he did with me --” Curufin smiled grimly. “Keep your dalliance, if you must, but remember that it means nothing.” 

“Father, enough.” Celebrimbor straightened his spine and went to the door of his room. “I care not what happened in the past. It has nothing to do with me.” He went into his room and closed the door behind him. 

“If you say so…” 

Celebrimbor cast himself onto his bed, his father’s voice echoing in his head. His course ahead was muddled and dark, but his anger burned bright within him, and hot. His father’s malicious words had made something clear, at least. The next time he should see Orodreth, he would persuade his lover to tell him the truth, by fair means or foul. 

 

(He was his father’s son.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta, E!


End file.
